


Call It Hope

by thegrumblingirl



Series: Royal OT3 AUs [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Austen-style tragedy and miscommunication, Daud's a fucking walnut that's all you need to know, I might upload a character sheet but who cares tbh, Multi, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Sense and Sensibility AU, you don't need to have read the novel to understand what's goin' on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-01 12:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13998639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/pseuds/thegrumblingirl
Summary: What if the Kaldwins never took the throne, Corvo Attano never became Royal Protector, and Daud was never marked by the Outsider?And what if the author had a giant crush on Jane Austen?“Know your own happiness. You want nothing but patience—or give it a more fascinating name, call it hope.”— Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility





	1. Prologue: Distance to the Throne

**Author's Note:**

> A Dishonored/Sense and Sensibility Fusion. Featuring the Royal OT3 — only they're not living in a palace this time. This time, the Kaldwins never took the throne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so — I've been down for the count with the flu all week, so all my plans of writing at least one full chapter for this went sailing out the window; that's why I'm just posting what I've got so far as a sort of prologue.
> 
> As stated in the tags, this is a fusion with Jane Austen's novel Sense & Sensibility, which is excellent and I'd encourage you all to read it; but you don't need to be familiar with it before reading this. As it is, I've taken plenty of liberties to switch things around into different pairings, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Basically, this is a timeline in which the Kaldwins never took the throne, and their lives — and the lives of those entwined with them — alter accordingly.
> 
> In between working on Part 4 of 'assassins' and my other wips, I don't know when I'll have the time to write the rest of it, but I'll keep tinkering away in the background if you'd like to see more! Please let me know if you enjoy the style and the beginning of the story!!
> 
> As for one of the songs Emily sings: [The Mourning Tree, Jessica Curry (Everybody's Gone to the Rapture)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RFMxLjyPw2I).

_Distance to the throne._

Those were the words whispered after the Kaldwin name in Dunwall and the Isles. After the death of Empress Larisa Olaskir, a Regency was established to lead the Empire through the crisis even as embittered struggles for power erupted in Parliament and between the noble families. The Kaldwins, led by Euhorn Jacob, would have been promising candidates. Had it not been for their distance to the throne, as historians would later explain in footnotes, they might have ascended to power. But instead, another family took the seat of power and the Kaldwins faded not into obscurity — as they were still too wealthy for that — but into a state of being conveniently overlooked. A few decades into the new family’s reign, Euhorn was on his second marriage and his health failing. He had a son from his first marriage, John. A simple man, with simple wants, who had married a woman whose wants and needs were decidedly less so; and who chided him and his father for their generosity, especially with John’s sisters. Born from his now second marriage with Beatrix, Jessamine and Emily Kaldwin were both yet unmarried and without suitors.

Euhorn and Beatrix never minded; but of course Dunwall’s polite society _minded_ a great deal, as polite society was often wont to do for a lack of anything better to occupy themselves with. Especially the elder of the two, Jessamine, was regarded with increasing bewilderment, as she seemed to possess all the graces of her station: she was objectively handsome, it was decided, with her dark eyes and dark, thick hair. She was cultured and well-read, as well as pleasingly soft-spoken. She was a credit to her sex, by all accounts. Her younger sister Emily, on the other hand, was said to be impulsive, not at all as serious in her studies as her family should have liked, and most distressingly outspoken.

Some of the other families felt that all this garnered the Kaldwins far more attention than they merited — they had been considered and found wanting, after all, so what was the use in concerning oneself with them? Even the most distinguished among them, however, raised a brow when Euhorn Kaldwin died after falling seriously ill during the Month of High Cold, never quite recovering from pneumonia. The estate, of course, went to his son, leaving his daughters and their mother unexpectedly dependent on charity. John, living comfortably in the Legal District with his wife and two sickly children, was at first determined to care for them; a notion his wife thought far above and beyond his duty as a son and brother. Half-brother, she reminded him, and why on earth would he let _them_ keep the house? John argued that Jessamine and Emily had lived there all their lives, and they should be allowed to do so until they married. His wife, fancying herself a realist in matters of society, informed him that such a thing was as unlikely as the Wrenhaven turning its tide at noon and that, besides, such blindness was not to be borne. As the eldest sibling and indeed the first-born son, he should take the house and grounds and see that his sisters and step-mother should be cared for — in a manner accordant with their station.

And so, Jessamine and Emily found themselves poring over inquiries as to the dissolution of their current household and the acquisition of another.

“What about this one?” Emily pointed at one of the folios the agent had given them. Employed by the Boyles, he had only barely contained his sneer when he’d come to see them. Their own attorney, Mr Davies, was merely to advise them on the prudence of any agreement they entered, John had told Jessamine.

“That’s in the Estate District, Em, we won’t be able to afford it,” Jessamine sighed after barely more than a glance. Not many of the inquiries they had received so far had needed more than a brief examination to be discarded, for a variety of reasons in all, but mostly: cost. And she did not doubt many of them had been chosen to convey exactly that. Jessamine knew well enough what her sister-in-law demanded of her brother, and although John had all the makings of a decent man, he never quite seemed to remember when his wife dangled a pocketbook and the future of his children — both boys — in front of his nose.

“Well, what can we afford?“ Emily cried, impatient. “We’ve been looking through folios like this for weeks, and we’re to move out in a month!“

“There’s two in here we might look at,” Jessamine showed her. “This one we could just about afford as we are, and this one would be feasible if we… let go of a few more things.”

“Let go?” Emily feigned suspicion. Jessamine restrained another sigh.

“Em, you know what we can’t keep the instruments.”

“No!”

“The upkeep is too expensive, as are new pieces to learn every month.”

“At least the piano, Jess, please,” Emily pleaded, and it fairly broke her sister’s heart. Emily was an accomplished musician — not that she liked to let on at society parties — and was possessed of an overflowing imagination that, well into adulthood, granted her the gift of songs and stories all her own. Although, lately, all of those tended to be mournful dirges whenever Emily did play, accompanied by her voice weaving tales of mourning trees and love lost on the wind.

“Just be glad you’re old enough that you don’t need lessons anymore,” Jessamine argued instead. Emily scowled.

“Must you be so heartless?” she complained.

“Mother still believes we can stay in the district,” Jessamine told her. “So I’m afraid someone has to be.”

Emily stood, gathering some of the other letters. “I’ll take these to Mama.” Without another word, she left, leaving Jessamine with their prospects. Jessamine picked up a few loose sheets of paper and pulled the typewriter across the desk towards her to begin writing out inquiries of her own, but halted when her eyes caught on the initials engraved on the side. E. J. K. Their father had been a good man, and if he could have changed the city’s laws in their favour, he would have. But for all that women could be empresses if they just entered the world at the right time, not all could be said to be so fortunate.

Watching their father get worse week by week and eventually every day had been frightening. Jessamine had assisted the surgeon and the nurse while Emily and their mother sat by the side of the bed and talked of when he was recovered; places to go and people to see. They had cheered him, Jessamine knew, and he’d clung to hope for as long as he could, but his eyes had been clear and somber whenever they met hers across the room while the doctor tried to bleed the fever out of his ailing body. He had never accused her of being heartless. Only of being sensible.

Tracing the metal engraving, she forbade herself to cry.

***

The Kaldwins had only ever been able to live on the edges of the Estate District across the river, but Jessamine had never quite realised how tall the Clocktower had loomed over her whenever she’d looked out through the windows of her room. It wasn’t _her_ room anymore now, as she stood in a strange house on a strange street. The Clocktower was a distant companion now. From the other room, she heard her sister-in-law instruct the conveyance company’s helpers on where to set down this crate and that. She did it for the pleasure of ordering around someone other than her husband, Jessamine thought uncharitably, and they would have to sort out the crates themselves later, carrying things from room to room to make up for the disorganisation.

Jessamine disliked herself when thinking this way of anyone, even Thalia. Emily, on the other hand, did not bother lowering her voice as she muttered under her breath about her brother’s ill choice in marriage as she marched down the hall into her own room. It did not suit her not to have stairs she could ascend in a huff, Jessamine thought with distant amusement.

Perhaps in a display of foolishness, most crates they had brought with them contained, apart from clothes and linens, books; at least as many as they could salvage from their old house. Jessamine was not sure they had enough shelves to put them in, but they had sold what they could and what they had left now would have to stay lest they invite the world’s derision for raising funds beyond their income.

The day passed as it would, at its own pace and with little interruption save for stepping on Emily’s foot before she could unleash the tirade that had been building in her for not only a day but seemingly a month. Thalia left, collected by John, who barely touched the cup of tea Jessamine managed to offer him, fresh from a stove still somewhat dusty with disuse. They would not have servants in this house — apartment. Most of Dunwall had been built towards the sky the more workers arrived from the other Isles, and those who could not afford a house of their own, shared. So, now, did they. They had the third floor, an apartment big enough at least that their mother could occupy the master bedroom, Jessamine and Emily taking what would have been an office and a nursery, respectively. The kitchen was small, which suited Jessamine and horrified her mother, and the living room was too small to have fit a piano, which helped Emily mourn the loss of her favourite instrument. Their mother, in turn, lamented the lack of room to receive any guests at all.

The social events the Kaldwins had hosted in the past had never drawn the likes of the Boyles or the Ramseys; but Thalia was now desperate to outgrow her husband’s social circle. Jessamine wondered if the old house was truly the place to do so; as she would trade in her comfortable position at the edges of the Legal District — but then, she would be glad to escape the reaches of her uncle, Timsh Sr., who had acted as her guardian after the death of her parents. Timsh, in his younger days, had distinguished himself through his pursuit of young women below his station, their dependence not a burden but a boon; while scouring the other families for a suitable bride. Jessamine knew that he had made her parents an offer for her hand — generous in his eyes and repugnant in hers and, thankfully, in her father’s as well. These days, it seemed Timsh had set his eyes on the Ashworth family. Jessamine did not know Breanna at all well, but felt for her regardless.

As it was, Jessamine decided as she surveyed the room, they would have no cause to expect visitors of note from here on out.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door.


	2. The Mourning Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessamine gets all the hot neighbourhood gossip, meets an old friend, and someone's got a crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome back! Hearts and cuddles to everyone who left such kind feedback on the prologue, I'm delighted that so many of you are interested in this little Austen fusion, and of course our most favourite OT3!
> 
> Soundtrack: [George's Waltz (I) by Shigeru Umebayashi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=baf8HAU304M&list=PLAE18A058F84959D0&index=5).

Taking a deep breath, Jessamine gathered her wits and opened the door, revealing — two elderly women, dressed in not quite last season’s clothes but dressed to match nonetheless. She recognised them from the morning’s goings-on, coming and going while the new neighbours were moving in. And now, Jessamine suspected, they had come to _welcome_ them.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted them politely, as she would have anyone come to her door save, perhaps, for the Boyles’ estate agent.

“Good afternoon, dear,” the one to her left returned, smiling kindly. “My name is Eloise, and this is my sister Lesandra. We heard that you and your family have moved in just yesterday, and we thought we might pay you a visit to welcome you.”

They were edging towards the threshold.

“That is very kind of you,” Jessamine thanked them with a nod. “We are indeed just settling in.”

“Yes, it is you, your mother…?” Lesandra trailed off with an expectant expression that seemed hindered somewhat by being marked shortsighted, Jessamine concluded from the way she was being squinted at.

“And my younger sister,” she completed the list. It was hardly a matter to discuss here in the open stairwell, but if she might just put off the inevitable a little longer…

“Oh, how marvellous!“ Eloise clapped her hands together in delight. “This old house was long in need of some young blood. I was saying so to Lesandra just last week. Wasn’t I, dear?”

Lesandra, in turn, patted her sister’s arm absently, her gaze still fixed on Jessamine. Another inch closer now, she squinted a little less; and Jessamine did her best not to sigh.

“Would you like to come in? For tea?” Jessamine asked with a smile that had once belonged in the reluctant company of lords. It was not lost on her that she was now dependent on the kindness of others the way Eloise and Lesandra may have once been on hers. And in some sense, neighbourhood busybodies were the same in any district, weren’t they? Only some carried titles, others didn’t. But they all wanted just a _peek_.

“Oh, thank you, dear! This old stairwell does carry quite a draft,” Eloise smiled up at her.

Jessamine stepped aside, opening the door wider for them, to admit them into the hallway.

“Are your mother and sister at home, dear?” Lesandra asked upon bustling inside after her sister; and Jessamine wondered if they might ever think it necessary to ask for any other their names, or if they would simply always be ‘dear’ to them. Well, her mother, perhaps. She still commanded some of the grace that made others call her ‘Lady Kaldwin,’ and Jessamine could not imagine anyone attempting to call her ‘Beatrix.’ Only her husband and her late sister ever had. Such distracted, Jessamine looked down at the floor for a moment. Her _late_ husband now, too.

Jessamine had never quite gotten used to being called ‘Miss Jessamine’ — she’d always felt a _name_ should be enough, at least for those who were young and unwed. She would have to discover Eloise and Lesandra’s surname, to be sure, as her mother had only ever addressed family and servants by their first names; and the gulf between those two could not have been greater. Still, their new neighbours would be neither.

Ere she could be called upon for her inattention as though she were back at school, Jessamine caught herself and looked up.

“No, my mother and Emily are out at the moment,” she told them, and thankfully it was the truth. They were out inspecting the district markets and shops — Jessamine would be the one to arrange for their new food deliveries directly; a list drawn up after careful consultation with their old cook. A list she would adhere to save them any coin she could, for one; and a list she would not have her mother rattle off to a greengrocer, for another. The harsh reality was that, for generations, no Kaldwin had need to consider the bare necessities, and while they would most likely be able to hire someone to come by for cleaning and dusting, they would, from this point onward, have to become quite familiar with their shopkeepers.

“Oh, Miss Emily looks so much like your mother,” Eloise exclaimed, and it was the sort of proclamation made for the sake of making it in someone’s absence so they could not be relied upon to blush and refute the notion; as Jessamine herself looked just as much like their mother and Emily quite resembled both of them.

“She does, it’s quite remarkable,“ Jessamine responded amiably. She closed the door and, noting that her visitors had not brought any coats to relieve them of, led the way into the living room. “Please, have a seat.”

Not having prepared for guests, Jessamine quickly assembled a tray with dishes and, counting quickly, decided there were enough scones left for a small plate of those as well. Tea, thankfully, was only a boiling kettle away, even though it meant pouring out the pot Jessamine had made for herself and, later, her mother and sister just an hour before. It would not do to share what had not been prepared for the occasion, she thought, then stopped herself and wondered if they were, now, poor enough to do just that. But ingrained manners won out over new-found  expectations when hosting company. It was too late now for this particular pot, at any rate.

The furniture, of course, had not yet been arranged to her mother’s full satisfaction, Jessamine forbade herself to note as an excuse when she entered the living room with tea and scones. At least Emily and Jessamine had stayed up most of the night sorting all the books they could fit into the shelves, as well as dishes meant to be on display along with any other decorations. The kitchen was functional and linens tucked away into closets. Their own rooms could follow over the coming days, but their mother had insisted on making the living room presentable first. It was as if she’d known, Jessamine thought with a tilt of her head as she set down the tray; and perhaps she had underestimated her mother’s sense of pragmatism after all.

Tea was served swiftly and without undue ceremony, and Eloise and Lesandra thanked her kindly but plainly, which settled Jessamine’s nerves a little. For a moment, the sisters were too absorbed in their appreciation of the tea and scones to continue peppering her with questions, and Jessamine used the time to — discreetly — observe them. They were in their sixties, at least, their hair grey but not dully so and twisted into simple buns. Eloise wore a pair of thick glasses on a chain around her neck, and Jessamine suspected they might have suited Lesandra better, who was sitting on the far side of the settee and narrowing her eyes at her again now.

After another moment, Eloise and Lesandra began chatting about the layout of the apartment, and it being quite suitable for a family of three, even one with slightly more advanced requirements, such as a mother and her two grown-up daughters — it was chatter far from the usual, about the size of the room and the number of couples at a ball, but its essence Jessamine understood all the same. Curiosity, all too easily mistaken for snide observation in the wrong ear, was not something the Kaldwins were unfamiliar with. She accepted the compliments on the furniture they had kept and brought with them, as well as the careful arrangements made to the room, with a smile and a nod, and a tentative explanation that they hoped to make the place feel more like home before the week was out.

“Oh I’m certain you will, dear. Say,” Eloise said and put her tea cup down. Jessamine braced herself. “Do you have any relatives in this district, or at least acquaintances? Because I would hate to think you and your sister all on your own.”

Jessamine did not know what to say for a moment — Eloise seemed sincere, and she could not have known that the Kaldwins had never quite recovered after her father had been passed over in the Regent’s search for a new Emperor. Jessamine and Emily had not grown up with a large circle of friends; and those that they had… would not follow them here, which, she supposed, rather called into question their being friends.

“A few acquaintances,” she replied truthfully then, “but no relatives.”

It was as though startling a very small flock of birds.

“Oh, but then we must—”

“Lesandra!”

“They may meet everyone in good time, Eloise, but what’s in good time for you and me does not generally defer to the calendar of the season,” Lesandra fairly barrelled over her sister’s objection, then turned back to Jessamine. “There will be a gathering at one of the larger houses in the district, at the end of the month.”

“The Forsters,” Eloise supplied helpfully, having yielded to the inevitable.

“Yes, the same. I am certain they would be happy to extend an invitation.”

Or, failing that, to one of her family’s better suited acquaintances, who may deign to take her and Emily along in their party, Jessamine followed the thought to its logical conclusion.

“Certainly,” she agreed, “we shall be happy to attend, given the opportunity.”

“Marvellous! Now let me see, who will be there that you absolutely _must_ meet? The Palmers!”

“Yes,” Eloise agreed, “a lovely young family. And, then, of course, quite a few members of the Watch and the military live in this district, current and former.”

“Of course,” Lesandra echoed, and there was another flutter in the movement of her hands that bade Jessamine to pay attention, lest she be married off at once and without her mother present to approve the match.

“There is perhaps none so charming as Lieutenant Corvo Attano, formerly of the Grand Guard of Serkonos,” Eloise told Jessamine in the manner of a storyteller, “nor one quite so mysterious as Colonel Daud, formerly of… well, no-one quite knows.”

Both were, however, Jessamine expected, devastatingly handsome. And single. She struggled not to laugh — no matter how much Emily might complain, sense did not rule out humour. And this, certainly, was exceedingly amusing, if only because it was predictable.

“And will both gentlemen be present at the gathering,” she enquired, “or do their charm and mystery quite save them from the amusement?”

“Oh I do hope they will be! Lieutenant Attano attends at his mother’s behest, you understand, but he is ever courteous, and an excellent dancer, I’ve been told,” Lesandra promised her.

“And what of the Colonel?” Jessamine found herself asking, quite in spite of her disposition.

“Well, his ward needed to be introduced into society at some moment or other, and since then they’ve made regular appearances. If, perhaps, someone reluctantly,” Eloise explained.

“His ward?”

“A girl from Driscol, so the saying goes, and he brought her back to Dunwall.”

That… spoke to his character, if nothing else, Jessamine supposed; but she was held back from making any such reply by the sound of the door opening. Her mother and Emily had returned. Quickly, she stood, smiling at her guests, and going to the door.

“Jess!” Her sister called, still in the hallway. “You should have come with us, we met the most—”

“Emily,” Jessamine quickly interrupted her and forestalling what could have become most unwelcome fodder for gossip at best and cause for ridicule at worst. “Mother, we have company.”

“Oh!” Emily quickly put her hand over her mouth, her eyes widening, but then she lowered her arm and grinned at Jessamine in a somewhat sheepish manner, entirely confirming her sister’s notion as to what might have followed had she not stepped in. Their mother, in turn, cut them both a disapproving look — Emily for her amusement and Jessamine for… the burden of company this early in the day, she supposed.

Beatrix smoothed out her jacket and joined her at the door to the living room.

“Good morning,” she greeted their visitors. “Thank you for keeping my daughter company.“

***

The next day, Jessamine ventured out to the shops and markets for some of the errands she had promised her mother. The streets of Dunwall looked the same from most angles, it was the houses and the spaces between that revealed whether one lived on the fashionable side of a district — or the river. ‘Moving across the river’ was Thalia’s dream and had once been, Jessamine supposed, her mother’s nightmare; even the presence of the Abbey of the Everyman, neither the somewhat sprawling Legal District to the West nor Rudshore Financial District to the East would not have allayed her objections to the southern shore of the Wrenhaven. Only now it was too late; and Jessamine was woefully aware of her own shortcomings as a daughter.

She was thirty-three years old, unmarried, and had never been frightened of that fact so much as she was now. She had guarded her independence well, in so far as living in her father’s home well after coming of age and completing her studies could be called ‘independence.’ Still, she had protected her interests as far as Dunwall’s expectations of those of noble — or, at least, more noble than common — birth allowed. ‘The poor can marry for love,’ she’d read in a penny novel once, and perhaps it was true; only the poor also lived with the pigs in winter and had the skin of their hands eaten away by hagfish brine and whale innards. As difficult as any of this was, Jessamine still counted herself lucky enough to be able to overlook the factories and refineries for work. She would look for a placement as governess, she had decided. Emily, for her part, was twenty-four, smart and of an endearing disposition when she endeavoured to be. She would be able to find work perhaps as a music teacher, or painting tutor, and be revered by her students, spoiled though they may be. If they were lucky, they might be able to work within the same household, which would serve to ease their mother’s worries.

Dunwall had seen remarkable advances in the past decades alone, from whale oil technologies to industrial progress on a grander scale than ever before. Under the guidance of Anton Sokolov, the Academy of Natural Philosophy spat out geniuses as though from a conveyor belt, the latest among them a young man from Serkonos, Kirin Jindosh. A thin, piercing man, if Jessamine had ever seen one glaring at her from the pages of a newspaper; she held far more interest in the work of an alchemist, Alexandria Hypatia, who had recently graduated as well. Her work aimed to better the lives of the workers in Gristol and Karnaca’s silver mines.

Amidst all that progress, Dunwall had still worsened — the poor became only poorer, the rewards of their hard work reaped by others; and the Kaldwin family had been no exception. While her father had never owned shares in mining companies or refineries, the Kaldwins had still long belonged to Dunwall’s upper crust. Until, of course… And now, they were cast down by the indignity of failing to provide a second son, leaving the estate to John. A few families had lost at least parts of their estates. It had begun with the Brigmores, and more had followed whose fortunes had been built on the old trades. Those who could still afford it, moved across the river. And those who couldn’t, those who had never had much to begin with, turned to the almshouses dotted across the city. There were more of them now than there had been ten years ago.

Policies had been instituted to protect the families not yet soaked, and the papers whispered that the new Spymaster, Hiram Burrows, had the Emperor’s ear. Together, she feared, they might bleed the city dry.

She passed one of the butcher shops, resolving to pay them a visit after she’d found the greengrocer. Her eye caught on the graffiti scrawled on the side of the building: THE OUTSIDER WALKS AMONG US, marked with a set of crossed bones. If magic existed, born of this world or the Void, Jessamine thought, those who wielded it possessed no sense of urgency. The Overseers arrested and branded heretics as they always did, stood in the streets to read their sermons as they always did. Jessamine had not seen them raise a hand against the muck staining street urchins’ cheeks. Poverty was not a condition that encouraged blame to be laid at the feet of the Outsider. She averted her gaze and continued on.

*

The butcher shop being the final item on her list of errands, Jessamine stepped into the shop at just a quarter past twelve. The bell above the door jangled as it heralded her entry, and she found the place well populated despite the hour. She fell in line near the counter, taking a moment to examine the displays and shelves.

“Jessamine!” A vaguely familiar voice called to her from the door.

She turned and found herself facing a young woman with short, dark hair and a wide smile. Jessamine searched her memory for a moment, until—

“Delilah?”

“Yes!” Delilah had entered the shop and came up to her, beaming now. “Oh my word, it’s been _years_.”

And indeed it had. Delilah’s parents had lived next door to them for years when Jessamine and Delilah were children. A tragic accident had taken Delilah’s father far too soon, and his wife and children had stayed for a while before eventually moving to live with Delilah’s uncle in Potterswick.

“When did you return to Dunwall?“ Jessamine asked her, pulling her a little closer to the counter to allow other patrons to exit the shop just past them.

“Only last year,” Delilah answered, her smile dimming. “And, look, I’ll tell you everything, but first — Jessamine, I am so sorry about your father.”

“Thank you, that is very kind,” Jessamine returned, somewhat stilted. She was used to hearing false condolences and voices that talked of how _important_ a man Euhorn Jacob Kaldwin had been. But Delilah… Jessamine knew she meant it, as sincere as she’d been when they were children.

Delilah cast her a sympathetic glance. “I know you don’t like to dwell, so let me make it easier for you: have you been introduced to the neighbourhood gossip yet?”

Gratefully, Jessamine smiled. “I believe I have, including the district’s most _eligible_ bachelors,” she pitched her voice a little lower so as not to be overheard. As children, she and Delilah had been equally mortified by the prospect of being married off for a sizeable dowry; as such she felt comfortable enough telling her at least the beginnings of her visit the previous day.

“Oh, you’ve been visited by the Jennings sisters, haven’t you.”

“Yes,” Jessamine confirmed, “and one wonders if they keep a filing cabinet.”

Delilah stifled a laugh behind her hand, but not well enough, as at least a few heads turning towards them, all disapproving eyes and pursed lips.

“Have they talked you into attending the gathering at the Forsters’?”

“Quite, now my only worry is they will persuade not only me and Emily, but also every unattached gentleman they know. And I suppose I should count myself lucky if only half of the many promised officers of the Watch are present.”

“Oh but don’t discount them quite so lightly,” Delilah told her. “Some of them aren’t nearly half as dull as they could be, you see.”

“Oh?” Jessamine briefly looked behind her to see that the line had moved forward and she would be next. She turned and quickly whispered, “Have you met many of them?”

Delilah nodded.

“Yes?” Jessamine prompted over her shoulder. She felt silly, nattering like this, but with Delilah, it felt a little more like the secrets they had shared as girls rather than grown women making fools of themselves.

“If you do come to the Forsters’,” Delilah whispered, “please at least let me introduce you to Lieutenant Attano.”

“Corvo Attano?“ Jessamine whispered back. The lady in front of her was receiving her change.

“Yes. If there was ever a man I would call _interesting_ —”

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” the butcher interrupted whatever praises Delilah had been poised to sing; and Jessamine handed over her last list of the day.

***

Jessamine and Delilah parted ways when Jessamine had settled her business and received her cuts for tonight’s dinner. She would have stayed behind to chat, but the hour was getting late and she had promised Emily to look through today’s papers together, specifically the advertisements by the agencies who handled the hiring of domestic servants and tutors for the noble families.

She hurried home, more than a few questions on her mind. If Delilah deemed the lieutenant from Serkonos _interesting_ … of course, she had not seen her childhood friend in twenty years, she could hardly know how her attitude had changed. And if, indeed, she knew the lieutenant, Jessamine wondered if there might be anything in the way of an understanding forming between them; one hidden well enough from the watchful eyes of the Jennings sisters, no less.

Upon her return home, Jessamine met Emily and her mother with yet another new face.

“Alexi Mayhew,“ a young woman of about Emily’s age introduced herself as she shook her hand. She was tall, her red hair held in a braid over her shoulder, and wearing the uniform of the City Watch. Jessamine instantly forgot all about neighbourhood gossip.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, her gaze flickering towards her family, but her mother seemed pleased enough and Emily was smiling.

“I told you about her yesterday, remember?” Emily prompted. And Jessamine did remember — Emily had, after the Jennings sisters had left, reported making the acquaintance of a young officer; only she had conveniently omitted her name.

“Officer Mayhew, of course. How do you do,” Jessamine bade her to sit down again, taking the seat next to Emily.

“As I was just telling your mother, I was in the area after my patrol, and I thought to come by and offer my assistance, seeing as your sister told me you had only just moved in,” Officer Mayhew explained, glancing at Emily with a smile that seemed almost shy.

“Well, that is very kind of you,” Beatrix smiled benignly at the young officer. “And certainly a pleasant surprise.”

Her nerves settled, Jessamine reached for the spare tea cup and saucer. Never a moment’s rest, she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Two chapters in, Corvo and Daud are still waiting in the wings, and I really hope I'll manage another chapter before starting Part 4 of assassins, because this would be a _terrible_ point to let this go on hiatus for a bit *winces*.  
>  EDIT: nope, well, this IS the terrible place to let it go on hiatus, because the two weeks I had for this are over and, uh, well. See you in the summer!  
> b) Alexi's got a cruu-uuuush. I mean, really, in Austen terms, meeting someone and showing up on their doorstep THE VERY NEXT DAY is like, peak smitten.  
> c) Seriously, tell me if you want a character sheet.  
> d) Woooo, Delilah!! Here, really just a childhood friend.  
> e) Thanks and shoutout to Veslya for reminding me of that time I had this epiphany: 'oh god, Jane Austen's gossiping old ladies telling you all about the neighbourhood's eligible bachelors are basically 18th-century tinder.'


End file.
